


don't keep me waiting

by RomanoJet



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: 5+1 Things, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Sylvix Week 2019, Tea Parties, spoilers for blue lion route
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2019-10-18
Packaged: 2020-12-23 18:29:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21085871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RomanoJet/pseuds/RomanoJet
Summary: Five times Felix had tea with Sylvain, and one time he didn’t.Sylvix Week 2019, Day 6: Tea Time





	don't keep me waiting

**Author's Note:**

> sylvix week landed right when midterms were sob sob so i could only write this one fic for it but!! i hope that's enough to show i love this pair!! they've taken over my life

The first time Felix has tea with Sylvain, he is nine, and Sylvain is his whole world.  
  
His family is visiting the Gautier estate, apparently for a special reason, though Felix doesn't know what for. His father and Glenn are using big words and serious voices, talking in hushed tones about the Margrave and something about Sreng. Felix doesn't pay attention, because all he can think about is seeing Sylvain again. He stares out the window of the carriage and wills the horses to move faster.  
  
Sylvain is his best friend in the whole world, which he proudly tells Glenn once. Glenn snickers at him, ruffling his hair and teasing him about his ‘crush’. Felix is indignant then, beating his tiny fists against Glenn’s chest until he laughs and takes it back.  
  
But now, all Felix can think about is how much fun he has with Sylvain whenever he visits. Even though it's freezing out, as it always seems to be in Gautier, they chase each other around the vast open fields, or spar with little wooden swords, or build blanket forts and fall asleep swathed in the warm cotton.  
  
When they arrive at the big house that Sylvain and his family live in, Felix stands beside his father and holds his head high as he was instructed to do while the Margrave receives them. Sylvain stands beside his father, and though he is also standing up straight, his eyes meet Felix's and twinkle with mirth. Felix wants to smile at him, but he knows his father wouldn't want him to break form, so he struggles to keep his face impassive until they are finally dismissed.  
  
"C'mon," Sylvain urges, grabbing Felix's wrist and pulling him down the hall. Felix stumbles to keep up, laughter catching in his chest as he races through the house with his friend. With the way Sylvain is acting, he's sure to have planned something extra fun to do during this visit.  
  
However, Sylvain merely leads him out into the back garden to find...  
  
"A tea set," Felix says flatly, flicking an unimpressed look at Sylvain and then back at the porcelain pot and cups meticulously set up on an old, wrought-iron table.  
  
"Yeah!" The older boy laughs at the look on Felix's face. "Don't look so mad, Felix! It'll be fun, I promise."  
  
He sits on one of the chairs, and Felix reluctantly drops into the other. He has no clue why Sylvain is making him do this, or if it's some kind of trick or something to bore him. It definitely isn't _fun_. He waited all this time to see Sylvain, and all he does is make him have tea with him? To his horror, he detects the beginning of a scratchy feeling deep in his throat. He takes a few deep breaths, willing himself not to cry.  
  
Sylvain busies himself with the teapot, which apparently had been pre-prepared, and pours a generous amount into Felix's cup. Then he does the same with his own. "Sugar for me," he says, plopping in two cubes, "and none for you, 'cause you don't like sweet things."  
  
Felix nods, swallowing down the lump in his throat. At least Sylvain remembered that.  
  
Sylvain finishes stirring his drink, and then lifts his cup to Felix. Felix grabs his own, clinking it none-too-gently against Sylvain's. He takes a huge gulp, uncaring when it burns on the way down.  
  
Sylvain takes a smaller sip, observing Felix over the rim of his cup. Finally, he speaks. "You wanna know why we're doing this, Felix?" he asks.  
  
Felix shrugs, trying to look non-committal. "Sure."  
  
Sylvain grins, and Felix feels his stomach give a funny twinge for a reason he's pretty sure is not the tea. "Because you can only become bestest friends with someone for life if you have a tea party with them. My mom told me." He takes another gulp of tea, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "And I wanna be that with you."  
  
Felix looks down at the cup in his hands as though it holds all the world's secrets. "For real?" he asks suspiciously. It sounds stupid to him - you can be friends with someone without drinking tea together like a bunch of old ladies - and Sylvain is known for making up stories that he swears are real when they really aren't.  
  
Sylvain nods seriously. "For real. That's why we're gonna have as many tea parties as we can so that we can be together forever."  
  
Felix considers it. Maybe having one or two tea parties won't be that bad, if it decrees that they will remain best friends throughout their whole lives. He doesn't want to grow apart from Sylvain, after all. "Fine," he decides. "That's what we'll do."  
  
The smile Sylvain gives him then is definitely worth it. The tea set is eventually abandoned as they begin to get restless, and they tussle on the grass until they tire themselves out. Laying on his back, staring up at the sky, Sylvain spread out beside him, Felix thinks that if their whole lives are like this, then that would be pretty great.  
  
\-------  
  
The second time Felix has tea with Sylvain, he is thirteen, and Glenn is dead.  
  
It is the day after the funeral. Felix hadn't wanted to go, because he knew Rodrigue would give a speech about how knightly and honourable Glenn's death was. In the end, he had been forced to go. During the predicted speech, he had almost stood up and screamed at his father.  
  
There is nothing honourable about dying, Felix thinks as he hacks away at a training dummy with a wooden sword. The rage he feels at his brother, at his father, at the world, is reflected in each solid blow he lands on the dummy.  
  
The king and queen are gone, Glenn is gone, Dimitri is a hollow shell, Ingrid is hidden away in her room. With each thought, he smacks the dummy harder. His pants and grunts of exertion echo through the empty training grounds. Finally, his frustration at the world reaches its peak, and with a scream he throws the wooden sword across the grounds with all his might.  
  
He clenches his fists, willing himself not to turn around and start beating up the training dummy with his bare hands, when he hears the door creak open wider behind him.  
  
He whirls around. Standing in the doorway is Sylvain. He looks a little bit freaked out, which means he probably saw Felix launch the sword clear across the room. Despite his shock, Felix wonders what Sylvain's doing in Fraldarius. Had the Gautiers been at the funeral?  
  
"Felix," he says softly, and Felix hates him for it. Why did he sound so concerned over _him_, when everyone else was busy praising Glenn for his knightly duty of getting himself killed?  
  
"What do you want," he says. He can't even muster the energy to sound angry.  
  
Sylvain glances over at the sword lying on the ground, then back at him. "I wanted to see if you were okay."  
  
"I am," Felix says shortly, stalking over to pick up the sword. "So you can go."  
  
Sylvain reaches forward as Felix passes him and snags his wrist gently. Felix freezes, glaring at his friend. "What."  
  
Sylvain hesitates. "Um...I wondered if you wanted to come with me for a bit."  
  
Felix wants to scream. Or maybe he doesn't. He doesn't know what he wants anymore. He surprises himself by saying, "Fine."  
  
Sylvain gapes at him, like he wasn't expecting him to give in that easily. But he's never one to let a chance go, so he tugs Felix out of the training grounds.  
  
Felix doesn't really pay attention to where they're going, focusing on the warmth of Sylvain's hand on his wrist. He could have pulled away by now, but he doesn't, for some reason.  
  
When they stop, they are inside Felix's house. It's the tearoom, a place no one has stepped foot in since Felix's mother died. However, instead of caked in dust like he expects it to be, it looks pretty tidy. There's pretty little tables dotted around, all decorated with their own personal tea sets. Sylvain drags him to one, and then draws out a delicate chair, staring at Felix expectantly.  
  
Felix scowls. "You want me to drink tea."  
  
Sylvain nods, waiting for him to sit.  
  
This should be filling Felix with even more rage. His brother is dead, and Sylvain wants him to sit down and drink tea. He should be furious.  
  
He sits down.  
  
Sylvain brightens and goes to pick up the willow-patterned teapot. It was already filled with boiling hot water, which makes Felix think that he had prepared all of this ahead of time. The fact that Sylvain knew that he would accept his invitation and come here with him makes him glower at the redhead.  
  
Sylvain is blessedly unaware of his anger, and pours out two cups of tea. Felix notices that his is flavoured with Almyran Pine Needles, the way he had once offhandedly told Sylvain was the way he enjoyed tea, and he hates that fact. Once again, there is no sugar to be seen on his side of the table.  
  
Once Sylvain is done preparing the tea and sits down, Felix shoots another glare at him. "Why do you always do shit like this?" he bites out. He takes one sip of tea and decides he doesn't want it, because it represents something he isn't sure how to deal with.  
  
Sylvain looks genuinely surprised, halfway through a sip of tea. "Like what?"  
  
Felix gestures around at the table, scowling. "This! Everyone else is out lauding Glenn for dying like a _true knight_ or weeping over his corpse, and instead of that you're sitting here with me with my favourite damn tea already prepared exactly the way I like it!" His voice is rising without him meaning it to, and now he's on his feet. "Why do you care so much about me? Everyone knows that Glenn was the ideal son and heir! Everyone knows that I should've died instead!"  
  
His voice catches in a sob on the last word, and he immediately throws himself back into the chair, facing away from Sylvain. Sylvain's face has gone pale, and he stands quickly to make his way over to Felix.  
  
"Felix," he says gravely, "don't ever say that again."  
  
"Fuck you," Felix sobs, burying his head into his arms. He hates himself, hates the way his emotions release themselves in tears, hates that Sylvain hasn't left the room and is instead laying a hand on his shoulder.  
  
Sylvain eases his head off his arms and presses it to his chest instead. He rubs calming circles into Felix's back, holding him comfortingly in his embrace.  
  
Felix is embarrassed, because he feels like he's six again and Sylvain has to comfort him after he comes crying and running to him after any minor inconvenience, but he's crying too hard to stop. He throws his arms around Sylvain and clenches his shirt in his fists, trying to get ahold of himself.  
  
Sylvain allows him to embrace him, now running his hand through Felix's hair to calm him down. He undoes his bun, letting his hair fall free. "Don't ever tell yourself that, Felix," he says quietly. "You deserve to be alive just as much as any of us."  
  
"I heard him," Felix hiccups, trying to get his voice back. "He wished it was me instead." He can still remember the moment he turned the corner to hear Rodrigue discussing Glenn's death with a servant in grave tones. Sure, his father hadn't said those exact words, but Felix is sure that it was what he was thinking. Why else would he have looked so guilty when Felix turned the corner?.  
  
Sylvain stiffens, his movements pausing for a moment. Felix doesn't care, and he continues to keep his face buried in Sylvain's chest.  
  
Finally, Sylvain resumes his gentle actions. "He doesn't get to decide that," he murmurs. "You are alive, Felix. And you're going to live your whole life and you're going to enjoy it. You aren't a substitute for anybody else. You're _Felix._"  
  
After a few more minutes, Felix has finally stopped crying. He backs away from Sylvain, wiping roughly at the tear tracks on his face. He doesn't thank his friend, but he doesn't think he needs to. Sylvain knows he is grateful.  
  
Without another word, Sylvain packs up the tea set and takes Felix's hand. He brings him all the way to his room, where they curl up together on the bed. Felix falls asleep to the sound of Sylvain's quiet, even breathing.  
  
\-------  
  
The third time Felix has tea with Sylvain, he is seventeen, and Sylvain is nearly unrecognisable.  
  
Felix is sitting in the mess hall late at night, so that he can avoid the crowds, when he hears someone stumble in. Steps uneven, the intruder curses as he bumps into tables and chairs while trying to walk across the room.  
  
Felix's hand is on his sword, but he knows he doesn't need it, because he recognises that voice. "Sylvain," he says, clipped and to the point. "What are you doing here?"  
  
Sylvain must be drunk. Felix can tell, because the redhead giggles and makes a beeline towards him.  
  
"Felix!" he shouts, much too loud for the late hour. "What're you doin’ up at night?"  
  
His words are slurred. Felix scowls. "Eating. Can't you go a day without drinking yourself stupid at some fucking bar?"  
  
Sylvain laughs again, throwing an arm around Felix's shoulders. He instantly tenses, throwing him off. Sylvain seems unperturbed.  
  
"Oh, Felix," he says, as if he has a modicum of sense in his idiot head.  
  
This enrages Felix more than it had any right to. "Come on," he growls, standing up and shoving aside his plate of unfinished food. Because, damn it, he's not leaving Sylvain to stumble around the monastery drunkenly by himself, no matter how much he deserves it. "I'll take you to your room."  
  
"I knew it," Sylvain sighs dreamily. Felix is prepared to ignore him entirely, but curiosity gets the better of him.  
  
"Know what," he mutters, catching hold of Sylvain's wrist in a tight grip and pulling him out of the dining hall.  
  
"I knew you'd take care of me," the redhead says, his voice singsongy. "You're always here for-"  
  
Rather than take a trip down Sylvain's uninhibited monologues, Felix nips the conversation in the bud. "I live here, dumbass. Now shut up. You're drunk." He knows he interrupted Sylvain, and his heart is beating weirdly fast. He doesn't want to have any sort of serious conversation with his friend while he's drunk as hell.  
  
They make their way up the hallways and staircases in mostly silence. Occasionally, Sylvain reaches over and tugs on a lock of Felix's hair, or gets a little too close to the back of his neck with his stupid lips, but Felix quickly puts a stop to it every time with a sharp-tongued rebuke. He hates how handsy Sylvain got when he was like this...is what he keeps telling himself.  
  
What he truly does hate is the way that Sylvain sneaks out at night, over and over, drinking himself nearly to death at any tavern he could carry himself to. He hates the disregard his friend holds for his own life. In their childhood, he had always noticed these little signs, but he had been too young to understand what they meant. Now, he can at least recognise the utterly self-destructive behaviour Sylvain engages in on the regular. Dating whatever pretty thing caught his eye, only to discard them like a crumpled up ball of paper when he lost interest. Slacking on his training and studies, choosing to spend his time on frivolous nonsense. All of it pisses Felix off to no end.  
  
When they reach Sylvain's room, the redhead seems to brighten. "Oh! Felix!" he exclaims. "Come in!"  
  
It only to quiet the idiot down, Felix follows him into his room. "Shut the fuck up. People are sleeping," he hisses. When he looks at Sylvain's room, he lets out a snort of derision. "What the shit is that?"  
  
'That' is an old tea set, set up on a rickety wooden table right there in the middle of Sylvain's room. How it even fits in the small space is beyond him.  
  
Sylvain beams. "The professor let me borrow it. I asked her, cause...uh..." He trails off, having evidently forgotten. "Doesn't matter! Let's have tea."  
  
Before Felix can protest at what an utterly stupid idea that is, Sylvain is pottering around with the teapot, which is probably filled with cold water (because how could it be hot? this isn't a kitchen) and tea leaves.  
  
Felix only decides to humour him because he's drunk. There's no other reason that he sits down at that stupid table and accepts the stupid cup Sylvain hands him full of stupid cold leaf water.  
  
Sylvain sits across from him with a sigh of contentment. When he takes a sip from the tea, he doesn't seem to notice anything is wrong. Felix rolls his eyes and pretends to take a sip from his own, if only to appease his friend.  
  
Sylvain grins at him goofily across the table. Felix tries to ignore him until he can't stand the eyes on his face anymore. "What?" he snaps.  
  
"Have you ever noticed the way your forehead sort of does this-" Sylvain pinches his brow and exaggeratedly makes a face- "when you frown? You should smile more."  
  
Felix reddens despite himself. "Shut up."  
  
"C'mon, Felix," he wheedles. "Gimme a smile."  
  
Felix slams his stupid cup down as hard as he can without breaking it. He’s done with this folly. "No," he says tersely. "Go to bed, Sylvain."  
  
Sylvain pouts, but under Felix's sharp eye, begins to pack away the tea set. He fumbles once, nearly breaking the teapot, and Felix is quick to dive in and catch it. His hands brush Sylvain's where the redhead has also tried to keep his grip on it. They're warm.  
  
A beat passes in silence. Then Felix jerks his hands away, leaving Sylvain to hold the damn thing by himself. Sylvain gives him some sort of deer-in-the-headlights look, and who the fuck knows what _that's_ supposed to mean.  
  
Felix is feeling pretty claustrophobic himself. He needs to get out of this dark room with a Sylvain who isn't in control of everything he says or does. Even though he ended up staying for tea for some unfathomable reason, he needs to go right now.  
  
"Goodnight, Sylvain," he blurts out, taking several steps back until his hand is on the doorknob.  
  
"Wait!" his friend cries. "Felix..."  
  
Felix shakes his head. "Feel better in the morning, Sylvain. Thanks for the...the tea. Now _go to sleep._"  
  
He opens the door and slips out before Sylvain can protest again. He pretends he hadn't see the hurt look in Sylvain's eyes just before he closed the door behind him.  
  
His heart feels funny, and he debates going down to the training grounds to work off his emotions there. However, it's late at night, and he decides to just go to bed and hope to forget this encounter in the morning.  
  
\-------  
  
The fourth time Felix has tea with Sylvain, he is twenty, and the world is washed in blood.  
  
Edelgard's army is sweeping the continent, and more and more of the kingdom is being crushed beneath her heel.  
  
Felix feels like he is fighting every day. Every morning he wakes up, straps on his combat gear, and goes out to dispose of Empire soldiers or bandits taking advantage of the chaos.  
  
He doesn't really see his friends or anybody he became acquainted with at the monastery, as Rodrigue wants him to stay in Fraldarius. Some bullshit about him being their last line of defence, despite Fraldarius proclaiming itself the shield of Faerghus. Their soldiers are weakening, and Rodrigue doesn't want anybody to see that. So he uses Felix.  
  
As Felix hacks and slashes at another group of soldiers unfortunate enough to cross paths with him, his face twists when he thinks about it. That's all he is and ever was to his father. Something to use whenever he wants.  
  
When the soldiers are all dead, Felix sits down on a rock and steadily wipes his sword of blood and gore. With no one left around this part of the border, he'll have to go home. The last thing he wants is to see his father's stupid face again.  
  
But he packs up his gear and rounds up the small band of Fraldarius soldiers accompanying him and sets off home anyway. In war, there is nothing one can do but fight. And he knows how to fight. So he makes himself useful.  
  
He arrives back in a few days to see a hurried caravan of soldiers just about to depart. He's curious despite himself, so he goes up to the head solider currently checking the harnesses on the horses.  
  
"What's this for?" he asks, gesturing to the caravan.  
  
The soldier looks up, startled, and then gives a quick bow. "Oh, Lord Felix, didn't see ya there! We've been requested to send some provisions and men to help with the campaign against Sreng. Lord Rodrigue deemed we had enough to spare, so we're headin’ out.”  
  
Felix could hear his heart beating in his ears. "Where did you say?" he demanded.  
  
The soldier looks confused at his sudden interest. "Margrave Gautier is fightin’ the Empire on one side and Sreng on the other," he clarifies. "He's requested aid."  
  
"I'm coming with you," Felix announces, making sure everything with his gear is in place. He turns around and signals his men to go clean themselves up and asks the lead solider of his group to tell his father that he was going out again.  
  
The soldier blinks. "I...are you sure? We do need you here, you know..."  
  
"I don't give a fuck," Felix growls. "I said I'm coming with you to Gautier."  
  
Without leaving himself open to more arguments, he swings himself into the caravan, retreating to a spot where he can be relatively alone. It's been a few years since he's seen anyone but his own men, and the thought of maybe being able to talk with Sylvain again is doing all kinds of things to him. Things that have no place in war. He tries to tamp down his heart, but it leaps nonetheless as the lead soldier gives a shout and the caravan lurches forwards with the clomping of horse hooves.  
  
When they arrive in Gautier, it is frigid, despite it being summer. Summer up in this territory had never really meant warmth; it just meant a pale watery sun hung in the sky, rather than dark grey clouds.  
  
They trudge all the way to the Margrave's estate, where he is standing outside to receive them. Felix, who is pretending he's not staring out to catch a glimpse of this, feels his heart give another unwanted bump. Sylvain is standing beside his father, looking regal in silver armour lined with crimson furs. His shoulders are a bit wider, and his hair is shorter and less messy.  
  
Before he knows what he's doing, he jumps out of the caravan and makes a beeline for Sylvain. He interrupts the soldier announcing them to Margrave Gautier and stomps up to his childhood friend. By the surprised look on Sylvain's face, it's clear he hadn't expected Felix to be coming with them.  
  
He grabs the front plate of Sylvain's armour and yanks him down to eye level. He's aware now of all eyes on them, but forces himself not to care.  
  
"I missed you," he says. "Bastard."  
  
Sylvain looks shocked for only a moment more before his entire face suddenly lights up with a smile. That smile has no business being in a war, but he has it anyway, and Felix feels lightheaded. "I missed you too," he whispers, and Felix feels his heart leap again. Stupid heart.  
  
Margrave Gautier clears his throat, eyeing them disapprovingly. "I'll take this to mean that our request has been delivered," he says dryly.  
  
The lead Fraldarius soldier jumps to attention. "Yes, sir! Twenty...er, twenty _one_ men to aid in the campaign against Sreng!"  
  
As the soldiers troop inside and the horses are led away to the stables, Sylvain takes Felix's hand and drags him inside. It's almost as if they are children again, except both of them are battle-worn and the war's toll is obvious on anyone's face they see.  
  
"Felix! I swear I would’ve come to see you earlier, but we've been swamped here," Sylvain says earnestly, once they're both seated at the dining table.  
  
Felix waves aside his words. "I know. It's been the same in Fraldarius." He hesitates. "It is...refreshing to see another face that isn't one of my own men."  
  
Sylvain nods earnestly. "I didn't know you were coming with your soldiers! I would’ve been so much more excited."  
  
Felix doesn't mention how he had practically forced the soldiers to take him with them. "Well, you can save being excited for later," he tells him, pretending to frown. The truth is, when he looks at Sylvain's face, he wants to smile more than he has in years, but he squashes that feeling down. "Right now we're here to fight."  
  
Sylvain only looks subdued for a moment before he nods. "Right! Sreng is taking advantage of the war with the Empire. They're totally kicking our butts."  
  
Felix snorts at the stupid way to refer to it. "Well, that's why we're here. Show us where to point our swords, and we'll kill who we have to."  
  
Sylvain laughs, a sound Felix hadn't realised he misses. But then, his friend just sort of stares at him, and Felix feels himself go slightly red. "What're you staring at, idiot," he says exasperatedly.  
  
Sylvain grins and leans his chin on his hand. "You."  
  
Okay, scratch that, his face is very red now. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean."  
  
Sylvain shrugs, the grin still lighting up his face in the best way. He reaches out and combs his fingers through Felix's bangs before he can flinch away. "You cut your hair," he says quietly.  
  
Felix scowls, his ears feeling hot. "So?" He had forgone the longer hair and bun almost as soon as he returned home after the monastery fell. It was just impractical. The shorter wolftail he favoured now was much better.  
  
Sylvain is still looking at him with those eyes, goddess damn him. "It looks good," he says, his voice soft.  
  
Luckily, a Gautier soldier bursts through the door of the dining hall before Felix can suffer any longer underneath these...well, whatever these _feelings_ are.  
  
"Margrave Gautier requests your assistance at once," the soldier announces. "We are departing for the border with Sreng in one hour."  
  
Sylvain turns to the soldier, his face melding into a much more professional look. "Thank you," he says curtly. "Tell my father we'll be right there." The soldier salutes and leaves, and Sylvain turns back to Felix.  
  
"This'll be just like old times, huh?" he asked, standing up from the table with a groan. "Fighting people side by side. You still have my back, right?"  
  
Felix stands as well. "Always," he replies.  
  
The fight with Sreng is bloody and dangerous. The Sreng fighters don't act like those from Fódlan, so their tactics are confusing. But Felix feels more alive than he has since the war started, because for once he's thinking and dodging and slashing with meaning. And he's fighting with Sylvain.  
  
As always, they make a perfect pair on the battlefield. Each time Sylvain leaves himself open, Felix is there to fill in the gaps. And when Felix is facing three men at once, Sylvain is behind him to fend off the men looking to ambush him. The way they fight is so natural, it's almost like all those years apart hadn't even happened.  
  
Finally, they quell the uprising. It takes a week or two of fighting, and some negotiating that Sylvain handles impressively well. No one believes Sreng is done attacking Gautier, but at least for the moment, the threat is nullified.  
  
The soldiers celebrate with drinks and cheers once they make their way back into Gautier territory. Gautier and Fraldarius knights alike are slumped over each other laughing and shouting about their victory.  
  
Felix has never liked these sorts of events. He understands that the men must take their victories where they come, lest they be crushed under the weight of the war as a whole, but he doesn't want to participate. He leaves early.  
  
Sylvain finds him in his guest room, the one he always stayed in when they were children. Felix is turning a small wooden sword over in his palm. He had found it leaning on the wall of the room, and unbidden memories started flooding back. He’s leaning against the wall, eyes closed, thinking.  
  
Sylvain nudges him gently with the toe of his boot. "Not celebrating?" he asks, amusement in his voice.  
  
Felix doesn't open his eyes. "No."  
  
He hears shifting, and then suddenly Sylvain is sitting beside him, pressed up close and warm. His heart jackrabbits, but he doesn't let himself react outwardly. He cracks opens his eyes to see Sylvain's face...close. Very close. His eyes are a warm caramel, and they sparkle at Felix. He swallows.  
  
"Thank you for your help," Sylvain says, apparently unaware of the effect he is having on Felix. "Even though we were fighting, I think this is the best time I've had in...well, years. I really missed fighting beside you."  
  
Felix thinks that if he opens his mouth he'll blurt out something he'll regret saying. So he just nods, afraid to breathe.  
  
Sylvain doesn't take issue with his lack of response. He just hums happily, probably to whatever song the drunk soldiers were singing when he left the dining hall. Felix could listen to his humming all day, but he still says nothing.  
  
Suddenly, Sylvain's eyes brighten. "Hey, Felix, I've got an idea. Come with me?" He gets up and offers Felix a hand.  
  
Felix frowns. "You're not going to drag me off to celebrate with them, are you?"  
  
Sylvain laughs. "Nah. This'll be our celebration, just you and me."  
  
And how can Felix say no to that? He reaches up and takes Sylvain's hand, and allows him to pull him to his feet.  
  
When he brings him to a tearoom, Felix can almost say he predicted this outcome. "What is it with you and making me tea?" he grumbles good-naturedly. The corners of his mouth are turning up, and he tries to force them down.  
  
Sylvain grins. “I just like the face you make when I offer you some,” he says, which isn’t really an explanation at all. Felix can feel his cheeks go red, which he steadfastly ignores.  
  
Of course Sylvain prepares the tea perfectly, and of course it’s exactly the kind that Felix likes and exactly how he takes it. He knows Sylvain knows him very well, but when this knowledge manifests itself in small things like this, it’s hard to keep up his hardened exterior.  
  
They sit there for at least an hour, drinking tea and catching each other up on the years spent apart. Felix has so much more he wants to say, and he feels the words on the tip of his tongue, but he drowns them in tea. Now is not the time to spill his inner feelings. It is war.  
  
Sylvain keeps giving him smiles that knock him off-kilter, looking at him with undisguised fondness. It makes him wish that he could be that open with his feelings, that he could let them show plainly on his face. He doesn’t know if Sylvain is looking at him like that just because they are best friends and this is the first time in years that they’ve seen each other, or if it’s because of the reason his heart is urging him to hope for.  
  
No matter how many years he’s tried to deny it, or how much pain it’s caused him in the past, he is undeniably, unquestionably, irrefutably in love with Sylvain Jose Gautier.  
  
But Sylvain doesn’t love him back. He stomps down that hope in his heart, because there is no reason for him to believe that Sylvain could ever like him in that way. He refuses to set himself up for heartbreak by confessing to the boy he’s loved his whole life, only to receive rejection. There is no point. And these thoughts, these feelings, they have no place in this hellscape of a war-torn country.  
  
But, perhaps selfishly, he allows himself to indulge in Sylvain’s company for as long as he can before he must go back home and fight again.  
  
\--------  
  
The fifth time Felix has tea with Sylvain, he is twenty three, and the war is over.  
  
There are shouts of victory in Enbarr rising from the Kingdom soldiers as Dimitri and the Professor step outside, bloody but alive. Edelgard, even after transforming into some sort of beast of her former self, has been struck down. The Empire has fallen.  
  
Felix can hardly believe it is over. Years and years of war leading up to this moment, and they came away victorious. It is almost too good to be true.  
  
Soldiers are embracing their friends, crying, cheering. So much happiness, and yet...why doesn’t Felix feel the same?  
  
He realises that the presence that is usually by his side as he fights is not there. Sylvain had been sent off to a different side of the room they were fighting in, and he hadn’t yet returned, even though the fighting was done. Felix feels his throat constrict. Where is he.  
  
He darts through the crowd, looking for his stupid red hair or his over-decorated horse. He sees Ingrid, who gives him a wave, face full of cheer, but he ignores her. His pulse is pounding in his ears, forcing him forward. When he turns and sees Ashe embracing Dedue, both of them looking happier than he’d ever seen them, he nearly chokes on the rising panic in his chest. Where is Sylvain?  
  
Call him selfish, but he wants his happy ending.  
  
“Felix!”  
  
Felix whirls around at the call, nearly collapsing in relief when he sees Sylvain behind him. He’s okay. Battered and bloody, but okay.  
  
He rushes to Sylvain, who is dismounting from his horse. “Hey-” Sylvain starts, but Felix ignores him as he pulls him into a crushing hug. It’s uncomfortable with both of them wearing armour, but he doesn’t fucking care. Sylvain is alive and warm in his arms, and the war is over.  
  
Sylvain is still for a moment, but his arms come to wrap around Felix in turn. “You’re happy to see me,” he comments, amused.  
  
Felix tilts his head down so he Sylvain can't see his face. “Shut up,” he mutters. But he doesn’t let him go.  
  
When the Kingdom army gathers itself for the night in Enbarr, preparing for the march back to Fhirdiad in the morning, Felix seeks out Sylvain again.  
  
His chest feels full, as if he is going to burst, and he wants to try and make it go away by staying by the one who makes him feel that way. Obviously, it’s just making the feeling stronger, but he refuses to leave Sylvain’s side.  
  
His feelings are unchanged. He loves Sylvain. And he’s coming closer and closer to the point where he says fuck it and throws everything on the line to tell Sylvain that. Because he’s not sure if he can live any longer keeping it in.  
  
He tugs on Sylvain’s arm lightly, his face already red in anticipation of what he’s going to ask. “Sylvain.”  
  
Sylvain hums, looking over at him. “Yeah? What’s up, Fe?”  
  
His heart leaps in his chest at the nickname. It’s unfair how everything Sylvain does has this effect on him. “Come with me,” he says, trying to sound curt. “I want to show you something.”  
  
Sylvain stands up easily, stretching and then throwing an arm around Felix’s shoulders. “Cool! Let’s go.”  
  
Felix doesn’t throw off his arm. His pulse jittering, he leads Sylvain to an area of the inn they were staying in in Enbarr. Inside the room, a small, battered tea set is sitting. Felix will never say it out loud, but he had to practically beg the Professor to lend it to him. She had looked at him knowingly, a small, infuriating smile playing around her lips, but she finally had relinquished it to him on the strong promise that he would bring it back the next day.  
  
Sylvain looks at him, his eyes filling with something Felix doesn’t recognise. It makes his ears feel hot, though, so he pushes Sylvain at one of the chairs. “Sit down, idiot. I’ll make you some.”  
  
It feels weird to be the one preparing the tea for once, after all the times Sylvain had done this for him, but it also sort of just feels right. He hadn’t ever thought he’d be ready to tell Sylvain what he’s going to tell him, but this is as ready as he’ll ever be. If Sylvain rejects him, they’ll be departing for Faerghus in the morning, anyway. His heart will be ripped to shreds, but he’ll be able to hide it away until he was alone at home again.  
  
He pours the water, making sure Sylvain’s Bergamot tea is perfect. He knows the way he likes it, of course, just like Sylvain knows his. They know almost everything about each other.  
  
When he sits down, Sylvain immediately takes a sip of tea, his eyes sparkling. “Okay, Fe, you gotta tell me what’s going on. I never thought I’d see the day where _you_ were inviting _me_ to tea.”  
  
Felix huffs, though he drinks his tea without too much ire. “What, does it need to be a special occasion? Maybe I just wanted to drink tea with you.”  
  
Sylvain laughs, the joy in his voice making Felix’s pulse stutter. “Maybe you do. But you look like you have something you wanna tell me.”  
  
Felix hates the way Sylvain can tell what he’s thinking just by looking at him. Definitely hates. Not loves.  
  
“Whatever,” he mutters, hiding behind his cup by taking a large swig. He can still see Sylvain’s amused smile, though, and he wants to wipe it off his face.  
  
He sets down his cup. Waits a beat. Waits another.  
  
“Any time now,” Sylvain says, though his grin makes it clear it's a joke.  
  
“Shut up,” Felix growls halfheartedly. Even though he thought he was ready to tell Sylvain, maybe he really isn't. It's too hard to let go of these feelings that had been burning inside him for so long, to lay them down naked on the table between them. Maybe he's not ready.  
  
But he looks up and sees Sylvain's earnest face again, and he wants to laugh and cry all at once. He has to tell him.  
  
“Sylvain,” he says, stilted. “I… Over the years, I…”  
  
No, no, no, this was all wrong. Face burning, he scowls and stares down at his tea. At this rate, he was going to die before ever gathering the courage to properly confess.  
  
Sylvain, however, looks understanding, somehow. He stands. “I think I get what you're trying to say, Felix. Can I try something?”  
  
Felix stands too, facing his friend. “You- ugh, fine,” he sputters, because he's a disaster.  
  
Sylvain comes close, too close, and cups his face. Felix's mind goes blank. Before he can even remember to breathe, Sylvain is leaning down and pressing his lips to his.  
  
He breaks it all too quickly, grinning down at Felix. “Well?” he asks cheekily. “Was I right?”  
  
Felix shoves his chest. “Idiot!”  
  
Sylvain’s smile quickly falls. “Wait, Felix, if you didn’t-”  
  
Felix grabs his collar and yanks him back down, kissing him again with much more desperation than the first time. If this is real and Sylvain really feels the same way as him, he wants to kick himself. So many years that he could have had with this, all held back because of the war and his own stubbornness. He curls one hand in Sylvain’s hair, pulling his body close. He’s warm, always warm and real and there.  
  
When he separates from Sylvain again, breathing heavily, Sylvain smiles at him, something much softer than before. “Felix,” he says. “I love you.”  
  
Before he breaks down and cries for the first time in years, Felix falls into his arms, hugging him as if he’d never let him go. “_I love you too,_” he mumbles into his shirt, but Sylvain’s arms tighten around him, and Felix knows that he has heard.  
  
\-------  
  
Felix spurs his horse on faster. He makes a mental note to apologise to it later, but for now, he’s too eager to arrive at his destination to slow down.  
  
The air grows colder around him, but that just means he’s almost there. Finally, Sylvain’s estate comes into view, and he nearly laughs aloud. When did he get so sappy?  
  
Since Sylvain. It’s always Sylvain.  
  
He sees him standing on his doorstep, scanning the horizon. When he’s close enough to see Sylvain’s face, he can see that it’s lit up like the sun upon seeing him.  
  
He nearly throws himself off the horse and into his boyfriend's arms. He squeezes him tight, and Sylvain does the same to him. Sylvain rocks him back and forth, murmuring sweet nothings, and Felix feels home.  
  
Later, when they settle inside in front of a roaring fire, Sylvain tells Felix all about the things that had happened since the last time Felix visited. Felix is half-listening, curled up in a comfortable chair, cuddling with Sylvain, and everything is right with the world.  
  
He dozes off, head nestled in the crook of Sylvain’s neck, and feels himself being lifted. Sylvain carries him to bed, snuggles in next to him, and they fall asleep in each other’s arms.  
  
In the morning, when Felix wakes, Sylvain isn’t in the bed. Felix stumbles to the kitchen in a sleepy haze, looking for his boyfriend.  
  
He finds Sylvain boiling something in a kettle. “Hey,” he mumbles, coming in from behind to bury his face in Sylvain's shoulder blades.  
  
Sylvain laughs, twisting slightly to ruffle Felix's hair. “Hey, Fe,” he says comfortably. “You doing alright?”  
  
“I'm still tired,” Felix grumbles. “What are you making?”  
  
Sylvain eyes the kettle. For some reason he tenses, as if he's a bit nervous. “Just thought about making some tea.”  
  
Felix rolls his eyes. “Another tea party of yours?”  
  
He's come to think of those as pretty special events. Sylvain wouldn't just hold one for nothing.  
  
Sylvain shrugs, a smile on his face. “Something like that.”  
  
Felix lets him go and backs up into a chair, yawning. He doesn't particularly mind having a tea party, but Sylvain could save himself the trouble and just tell him what he wants to say.  
  
Sylvain is still looking at the kettle. “Remember the first tea party we ever had?” he asks suddenly. Now suddenly he's looking at Felix, and his gaze is intense.  
  
Felix frowns, trying to recall. “That was ages ago. We were children.”  
  
Sylvain nods. “I told you that day that we needed to have tea together in order to stay best friends for life.” He cracks a grin at his childish way of thinking. “Looks like that's working out so far, huh?”  
  
Felix snorts, crossing his arms. “Looks like it. You know it's not because we had tea together, though, right?”  
  
Sylvain chuckles. “Yeah.” He's still looking at Felix, his gaze soft. Felix isn't uncomfortable with his staring anymore, though, so he allows him to keep doing it. He yawns again, wondering if there was time to go back to bed before Sylvain's tea thing.  
  
"Let's get married," Sylvain says suddenly.  
  
At first Felix isn't sure he heard him right. He must still be half-asleep. "Excuse me?"  
  
“I want to marry you,” Sylvain says firmly, suddenly in front of him, suddenly _kneeling down_. Felix blinks a few times, his mouth hanging open stupidly.  
  
Sylvain reaches out and takes his hand, then pulls him into his embrace, standing up straight. “I love you,” he says, voice thick with emotion, “and I don't want to live without you. Let's get married and live together for the rest of our lives and die together just like we promised.”  
  
Felix still feels like he's playing catch-up as his sleepy brain struggles to comprehend what Sylvain's saying. But there's one thing he understands crystal clear. Sylvain wants to marry him.  
  
He draws back, looking up at Sylvain's nervous, hopeful face. He rises up on his toes and presses a kiss to his lips.  
  
“Yes,” he tells him, watching as his eyes brighten and start to tear up. Felix can feel his heart swell with overwhelming love. “I'll marry you.”  
  
They never do have the tea party, but Felix doesn't mind. There's a lifetime together ahead of them to do all that and more.  



End file.
